


A Glance into the Future

by Cryswimmer



Series: I Look Forward to It [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:36:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9164422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryswimmer/pseuds/Cryswimmer
Summary: The Doctor gives into curiosity and reads a bit of River's diary.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I am new to AO3, so please forgive any mistakes with posting.  
> I cannot for the life of me figure out how to make the italics work!

A Glance into the Future

 

The Doctor held the blue diary carefully, even gingerly. She had told him that it contained his future – spoilers, she had said – and that his own rules dictated that he must not read it. It made sense. He knew more than most what a mess it made of time when a time line was altered, but for the first time he was truly tempted.

 

He had watched her die to save him. He had managed to at least store her consciousness within the library. The adventure should be over. It was time for him to move on, not to dwell on someone left behind. He should have left the book and screwdriver sitting on the railing as he had intended to do. He had actually walked away from them, and then he had returned. Donna, in a rare moment of insight, had not questioned him. She had been absorbed in her own thoughts, and he was grateful. He didn't want to explain to Donna what he did not understand for himself.

 

He wanted to know who River Song was. He wanted to know who she was to him. He knew that he was likely to find out in the course of time, but it might be a very long time. He normally counted his life in decades, rather than years. For some reason, waiting decades to learn who she was seemed untenable. Granted, he wasn't particularly used to waiting. Having a time machine at his disposal had spoiled him.

 

The TARDIS engines hummed softly around him as he leaned against the console and passed the book from one hand to the other and back again, unopened. Could he hazard a glance? After all, she was – apparently – his wife. His wife? She had been human. He couldn't even imagine a circumstance in which he would marry a human; not really. But, he had told her his name. She had said it with perfect inflection, so he must have told her. It was not a name that could be written in any language currently written, because it existed only in a dead language. What was more, he had never spoken his name to anyone, not even to Rose.

 

He carefully opened the blue cover of the book. It was worn, and the leather was cracking. The pages were yellowed and wrinkled, a high-quality paper that had nonetheless broken down over time. The scrawl was impatient, nearly scribbled, as though the writer had dedicated little time to handwriting. He smiled slightly. Even knowing so little about her, he imagined that she rarely slowed down enough to write in the little book. And yet the book was filled with tiny writing, from one cover nearly to the other.

 

He supposed he should start at the beginning. There was less chance of running into something significant if he stayed away from the end of the book. She had said she asked for his help with some regularity – according to what she had told him – so it was likely that her time line would cross his in multiple locations. She had asked him about events they had shared, events he knew nothing of, and yet her expression had been expectant. She had believed he would know what she was referring to. Yes, he would have to start at the beginning.

 

The first page held a sketch of a man with essentially short hair waving longer to flop over one eye. Dressed in a suit with a bow-tie, the man's most obvious feature was his chin. The second thing that jumped right out, if he could pardon the irony of the phrase, was the man's prominent nose. In all, he was a funny looking man, although not offensive. There was a glint of mischief in the man's eyes, sparkling past the carefully yet inexpertly drawn face and clothing. Briefly, the doctor wondered if he should be jealous of the man, and then decided against it. He didn't know this woman, not really. She could draw whomever she wished. There were many pages after that where she wrote about her studies – an archeology degree, for heaven's sake – and about her desire to look for him. He momentarily wondered how she had met him, and why she had held such a fascination for him.

 

He read a few lines at the top of the page, complaining about the “sisters.” She had apparently been raised in a convent, given the context clues in her writings. He had to smile as he considered her spirited personality a midst a group of pious sisters. He saw a few references to himself, but mostly with regards to her desire to look for him. She didn't know him then any more than he knew her now, at least not at this point of her life.

 

Carefully, he turned the page and met more of her cramped, tiny scrawl. She had crammed an amazing number of words onto the page. He stopped skimming and started reading at the first direct reference he found to himself.

 

_The Doctor said I should use this journal to write everything down. It was one of the rules, and I suppose I should follow them. Aside from being expected of a wife, following the rules may just prevent another paradox like the insanity we just left behind. In any case, it's a small price to pay for the moments of escape from Stormcage. I've held onto this book for years, carried it with me because it had been his gift, so I may as well use it. Who knows, I may publish it someday and make a fortune. Stranger things have happened._

 

_Tonight we made a visit to the stars. We weren't among them, but beneath them. It was absolutely wonderful. He took me to Caldorin Beta on the outskirts of some obscure little galaxy. The year was 2360, and he had all these plans to take a lift to the top of a tree somewhere on a mountain in the middle of sea in order to see stars as bright as daylight. Things didn't go exactly as he had planned, but then they rarely do when I'm around him. The line for the lift was ages long, and we never did manage to get around to waiting in it. We walked first around the based of the tree, and then wandered out into a tiny path that led to a small clearing with deep green grass. We sat, and we talked, and we laughed together. It was brilliant._

 

_The plan was to wait until nearly midnight and then flash the psychic paper to nip past the line. But as the sun set and the stars came out, we instead lay back on the grass and watched the light show. It was absolutely amazing! We lay beneath the brightest cascade of falling stars I have ever seen. He told me to wish on them, but we both knew it was nonsense. My only wish was to be out of here, and to be with him. So I closed my eyes and wished I never had to come back here. Of course I do... twelve thousand consecutive life terms and all that... but it was my wish. The air was so clear, and the sky was unbelievably bright. He had told me I could read by it, but I preferred to lay beside him, my hand in his, and feel the grass beneath us. The whole universe seemed to stand still, just for that moments._

 

_He kissed my hand. How old fashioned he was. He kissed my hand and then held it against his cheek as we lay beneath the brightest stars in the universe. As first dates go, it was hard to beat. I don't even know how long we were there. It felt like it was a moment, but the sun was rising a we returned to the TARDIS, so it must have been hours. I don't even know how long he has had it planned. I do know that he is little more comfortable with me than I am with him. That is somewhat unnerving at times, but I suppose I will get used to it. I know him, and I love him so much, and yet there is so much more for me to learn. What's more, I simply cannot wait until he finally knows me._

 

The Doctor smiled as he finished the page, and with some difficulty he closed the book. He had learned too much already. He had a glimpse into his future – her past – and he recognized her. Well, not really her, but certainly her spirit. She had known his name, and that was a knowledge that had been lost in the centuries since his world had been destroyed. During a Galifreyan marriage ceremony, souls were shared. A name was the essence of the soul, and it was shared at that time, given as one gave himself into the love and keeping of a wife. That name was rarely spoken, and never in company. It was sacred between a couple, and held worlds of power. If he had shared his name, given her that piece of his past, she was a part of him. Or, she would be. He didn't need to see any more than that to understand he was treading a fine and dangerous line. He knew the consequences, and he could not risk it.

 

He would read the book again at some point. He would keep it with him, and when he met River again – as he was certain he would – he would glance at it then. If he had it now, then it followed that her ending was his beginning, at least in a general sense. Time was more of a ball than a line, with tendrils wrapping around into itself, overlapping, and folding back upon themselves. But it was a start, and time travelers shared a general sense of continuity... usually. He would keep the book, and he would read a little more when he knew a little more, when he felt it was safe.

 

He crossed the control room and carefully walked up the stairs and down the corridor. When he came to the wardrobe, he entered and looked around. The TARDIS had formed cubicles of a sort for storage, and while most of this things were tossed about, there were a few things he kept more carefully. He crossed the room and reached to a higher shelf, lifting down one of several heavy woolen scarves. It was perhaps his longest, and had wound and trailed when he had worn it, but at the time it had seemed a good idea. It had also been useful at times, so much so that when he had once unraveled through the TARDIS to save himself, he had found a darling woman to re-knit it for him. Still, it was impractical now. Although he had once run through the universe with wool trailing behind him, the scarf would have been ludicrous with a leather jacket or a pinstriped suit. Nonetheless, it was one of his favorite keepsakes, reminding him of adventures and friendships, and yes... Sarah Jane.

 

With care, he placed the diary within the folds of the scarf and returned it to the shelf. He stood a moment longer, just looking at the folds of beige and green and brown. So many memories over his lifetime, and yet for the first time he was not eager to move on. Much as he had when he had lost Rose, he felt... bereft. He felt as though something wonderful had been lost, before he had even found it. He placed his hand on the corridor wall, feeling the TARDIS pulse vaguely beneath his palm to reassure himself. This too would pass, and he would go on. He would be fine. He was always... fine.


End file.
